


Home is Where the Hobbit Is

by RarePairFairy



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: BOFA-Fixit, Baby Hobbits, Fluff, Gen, Hinted Bagginshield, Hobbit Culture, The Shire, tourist!dwarves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:33:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RarePairFairy/pseuds/RarePairFairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo returns to the Shire to leave things properly before turning his back on the place forever, ready to call a newly won mountain Home.</p><p>The dwarves didn't expect to like the Shire so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is Where the Hobbit Is

Baby hobbits are extremely small. Five-year-olds are about the size of a cat.

They like to stand on a dwarf’s shoes.

They don’t understand why dwarves wear shoes.

Their ears can move independently.

They squeak when distressed.

They sleep in cuddlepuddles.

They like to be picked up.

They like to join in burping competitions.

They can roll down a hill at high speeds without getting dizzy.

They often speak all at once.

These are all things that the company of Thorin Oakenshield learned about young hobbits within four days of staying in the Shire.

They had meant to only stay for a few days while Bilbo got his affairs in order. In one year’s absence certain of his cousins had managed to stir up just enough trouble to make the task of tying up his affairs that much more difficult.

But the longer Bilbo spent trying to organise himself, the less the dwarves wanted to leave. Bilbo had never talked in great detail about what hobbits are actually like. The subject had never come up before, and no-one had ever asked. None of them had expected to become so fascinated by local culture, and none of them had been prepared for it, but as it turned out there was something for everyone.

Bilbo had intended to return to the Shire alone to sort out business, but the moment Thorin got wind of his intentions he would not allow the plans to go through without offering Bilbo adequate protection. Dwalin, Bofur and Nori were the first to volunteer. Fili and Kili (simultaneously) were next, and then Bifur declared (unintelligibly but understandably) that he went where his cousin went, and Bombur wanted to see Bilbo’s old town one more time before vanishing forever into Erebor’s kitchens. From there it had snowballed, until the whole company that had fought to return to the Mountain found themselves returning the way they had come.

Parts of the trip were easier. Being offered a clear path through Mirkwood certainly helped. In the long run, despite taking a longer road, they arrived in Hobbiton a month sooner than they had arrived in Erebor over the same distance.

All the same, by the time they arrived there they were all in the best possible state of mind to have a good long rest in a peaceful, quiet, green place where nothing ever happened. Bilbo himself experienced a mix of things; renewed affection for the Shire, and an unfamiliar restlessness that made sitting still difficult.

No time had passed before Dwalin, Bofur, Nori, Gloin, Fili and Kili fell into the local habit of frequenting the tavern. Their stories, jokes and songs became instant favourites. Bilbo was delighted to hear Bofur humming a well-known Shire drinking song one morning while helping to fry eggs.

Fili and Kili became favourites of a number of Shire lasses as well, and Bilbo was torn between fretting for the lasses and fretting for the princes when he walked past Foxglove Weatherby’s front garden one morning and overheard the girls taking bets on who’d be the first to “pick the flowers”.

Dori and Ori were adopted by the more proper and well-behaved Shire women, Dori by the ladies and teamakers and Ori by the avid readers, while Nori played increasingly sneaky games of cards with his new friends from the tavern, teaching each other different ways to cheat while smoking the room into a haze. Balin, ever the diplomat, made peace with Bilbo’s more disapproving relatives and made allies with the Tooks and ensured that the Company were well thought of. Bilbo wasn’t sure what to think about it, if it was simply a habit of Balin to be diplomatic, or if he was preparing for the possibility of Bilbo changing his mind and not wanting to stay in Erebor. The thought did not help his conflicted feelings.

Oin spent a number of afternoons with the Shire physician, both in loud animated conversation about their respective race’s illnesses and treatments, trading nauseating anecdotes until either Gloin or the doctor’s wife told them to shut up.

Bombur, after hearing on the first morning how many meals hobbits normally have in a day, spent the rest of the week in a state of bliss. He did not leave the house except to fetch fresh ingredients and swap recipes with hobbits in the marketplace. To say nothing, of course, of the profit the rest of the Shire was making off the temporary stay of thirteen dwarves in the area of food alone. If the Shire was not equipped already to handle the formidable appetites of so many hobbits, the presence of thirteen such large stomachs would have emptied their stores instead of lining their pockets.

The last of the company but one of the most unexpectedly popular, Bifur made toys. This brings the tale neatly back to the beginning, where the dwarves discovered that their favourite thing about the Shire was its _especially_ _little_ population.

Thorin, seeing it as a duty of sorts and taking control as was his nature, spent most of the days meeting Bilbo’s relatives who would be recipients of his furniture, books and maps and other paraphernalia and organizing for the transport of everything else. Otherwise he could be found standing near Bilbo, walking next to him or sitting by his side for no other reason than because he felt he belonged there. This proximity was how he met Hazel and Iris.

Upon the moment of his return to the Shire, Bilbo was automatically on better terms with the Tooks than with anyone else, partly because they were the only ones so phenomenally excited to see him and hear of his travels. A handful went so far as to congratulate him on his adventure. The other families in the Shire thought of Mister Baggins, and by extension his dwarvish friends, as being unforgivably strange and would not speak to him for a whole day until some very stern words were spoken by Margo Took, his first cousin once removed, spoken in the tavern while wielding an ale in one hand and a Proudfoot by his collar in the other.

Hazel and Iris were Margo’s tiny daughters, and she handed them by the backs of their dresses to a nonplussed Thorin before confronting the aforementioned Proudfoot.

Following Margo’s “words”, Bilbo was coyly approached by a couple of lads wondering if he’d tell them a tale or two about “where you’ve been this whole time”, and so Bilbo was marginally forgiven for being odd while the popularity of the dwarves gradually skyrocketed. Margo, that night at least, allowed her daughters to stay perched on Thorin, much to Thorin’s hidden satisfaction and outward tolerance. Despite initial discomfort, he found himself cradling the three- and four-year-old girls to his chest and letting them tug at his braids and rub their small hands against his beard in wonder and confusion.

If Bilbo got distracted throughout his story, casting glances and betraying his feelings with fond smiles, no-one pointed it out. After all, many of the company were practically telling the arduous story for him, interjecting as often as they did with opinions and memories of their own to an increasing audience.

The days went on and more members of the company encountered curious, noisy, sweet little faces wherever they went. Bifur’s toys were instantly popular, and many of the smallest hobbits were thrilled when they learned that he ate flowers almost as often as they did. It became a common sight to see him whittling a figurine out of a block of wood and sharing a bunch of blossoms with a gaggle of girls and boys. Bofur accompanied him sometimes to play music while the children danced or latched onto his legs.

Everyone stopped worrying about accidentally stepping on them when they discovered that Bilbo was not the only hobbit with a mysterious ability to vanish from one place only to reappear almost instantly in another.

Regardless of what any dwarf did, it was Dwalin and Thorin who attracted the most children, though no-one could quite figure out why. As much as twins Peony and Poppy enjoyed having their hair braided by Dori, they could spend an equal amount of time just as happily patting Dwalin’s bald head. Hazel and Iris appeared to have claimed Thorin as their own and would climb over fences or dash down hills to get to him whenever they saw him. Bilbo knew Thorin didn’t mind any more than Margo did. He went out looking for Thorin one day, only to discover him sitting in a field having little white flowers tucked into his boots and sleeves and shirt and plaited into his hair by a gang of little girls.

‘I thought you were due home half an hour ago?’

‘I lost my way.’ A wry smile. ‘Twice.’

Bilbo noted that Thorin did not reject the description of Bag End as “home”. Bilbo tried not to have second thoughts about giving it up.

The days, accompanied by children and tinged with the exasperating boredom of dealing with bequeathing one’s home and belongings, turned into a lengthy holiday. The conflicting feelings only grew, a silent epidemic of emotion which spread from Bilbo to the rest of the company.

‘I hope I’m not taking you away from your duties. I know it’s important to get back and I know you must dearly want to,’ Bilbo said one afternoon as they smoked on the front bench, watching the sun sink and the sky turn orange and purple.

‘Dis is as much a statesman as Balin,’ Thorin said, nodding to the latter who stood at the gate and chatted with a passing gardener. ‘Besides, we can afford an extra week or so.’

 _You deserve an extra week or so_ , Bilbo thought, thinking about how Thorin look more peaceful than he had in all the time Bilbo had known him. The Shire must have that effect, he thought drowsily, especially on people who have seen so much trial and tribulation.

Being on the road and suffering everything he had suffered alongside them, Bilbo had come to think of the company as his other family. Having them stay with him in such a domestic setting cemented the feeling until a childish corner of his heart began to hope, in some small way, that they could all remain in the Shire and live together. He cursed himself for wishing it, even as a neighbour’s son innocently and inanely asked Balin if they would all please stay for good.

The day came, with all the inevitability of death and taxes. Leaving the Shire was painful. When Dwalin tenderly hugged Peony and Poppy, Bilbo could have sworn he saw a tear in the corner of the old warrior’s eye. Bifur gifted the last of the wooden toys, along with a flower each, to the forlorn children that approached him while Bofur played one last song for them to dance together.

Thorin knelt down on the soft grass and Hazel and Iris leapt into his arms and burrowed into his coat, refusing to come out until he promised they would all visit again someday. With a glance to their smiling mother, he pressed a kiss to the tops of their dark curls and Bilbo felt something leap in his chest. He knew Thorin had contributed to raising his nephews, he must have, dwarvish families seemed closer than some hobbits. But he had never pictured Thorin as so gentle and affectionate. Fatherly, almost.

Fondly he recalled how they had all grumbled and grunted for the first few weeks of their adventure, as they now skipped between reminiscing about their holiday and discussing Erebor and how, perhaps, they could tailor the lower slopes outside and furnish some of the living areas inside with ideas inspired by the Shire’s own architecture and horticulture. There were tentative suggestions thrown Thorin’s way that, since he had promised the young girls after all, and since surely not all of them would be needed every month of every year, another holiday in the Shire might be planned for the foreseeable future. Bilbo grinned to himself as Thorin sidestepped the suggestions. He could see plainly the desire to visit again was etched as deeply into Thorin as it was everyone else, and he felt a rare kind of pride. The pride turned to mournful empathy when Fili and Kili approached one evening to sleep either side of him, asking in hushed voices if it had hurt this much for him to leave home and come along with them in the first place.

‘A little,’ he confessed, and they looked young for the first time since he’d seen them in battle.

‘But if I had the chance to do it all over again, I would run out the front door anyway.’

That earned him two hugs, and a flower.

**Author's Note:**

> I know. Bilbo has no close family at this stage in canon. I made up some for him because I wanted family and hobbit babies. The things I say about hobbits and hobbit society in this fic are 90% my own invention.  
> The names of the hobbit babies were based on flowers. I apologize to any aficionados or people with timeline/canon kinks.


End file.
